Counting Down to Zero
by Rigil Kent
Summary: Countdown" ep addition. For Sub-Commander T'Pol, twelve hours is an eternity...
1. Z Minus Twelve

**Counting Down to Zero**

**Genre:** Drama, _Countdown_ episode addition

**Rated:** PG … mild language and adult situations.

**Summary: **For Sub-Commander T'Pol, twelve hours is an eternity...

**Disclaimer: **I own a big fat nothing. Not my hopes. Not my dreams. Nothing.

**A/N:** This has long lain fallow upon my hard drive though some of you may recognize it from my LJ. There are 6 planned "chapters".

* * *

**Z Minus Twelve**

"I expect you to keep him in line."

Captain Archer's tone was sardonic as he stood in the airlock, and a teasing glint was in his eye. T'Pol frowned slightly. Only a human could possibly find humor in their current situation. She gave Trip a glance, noting instantly that he was as unamused as she was by the captain's poor attempt at levity. Not for the first time, she found herself silently lamenting the loss of the Commander Tucker whom she had first met in Captain Archer's ready room so many years ago. He had been arrogant and brash and remarkably emotional, but that was infinitely superior to this ... ghost who play-acted at being Charles Tucker.

It was an entirely illogical notion.

"I'll do my best," she replied, ignoring the subtext of the captain's remark as only a Vulcan could. The captain's statements, directed to her instead of Trip, seemed intended to communicate his understanding – and approval! – of the new dynamic between her and Tucker, a dynamic that she was _still _trying to figure out herself. Archer gave the chief engineer another nod before turning away, disappearing into the Xindi craft that would carry him to the weapon already en route to Earth.

She tried not to think how ominous the airlock's hiss sounded as it sealed behind Archer.

"Mayweather to T'Pol." The ensign's voice crackled out of the comm panel a few moments later, and she turned to it, aware of Trip's eyes on her. She was always aware of his eyes.

"This is T'Pol," she said as she depressed the transmit button.

"Degra's ship has undocked."

"Then take us to maximum warp." There was no need to give the helmsman a heading.

"I'll be in Engineering," Trip muttered as he turned away, and T'Pol frowned at how slowly he moved, as if under the strain of an impossible weight. He had been working nonstop since the battle ended, conducting repairs and coordinating the already undermanned damage control teams. Even before that, she knew for a fact that he had not had the opportunity to rest for any significant period of time. _Since before the Xindi attack on Earth_, she reflected sadly.

"No." He gave her a sharp look, anger stamped on his face, but she continued before he could speak. "I need you fully rested, Commander. Your team has everything under control for the time being. Consider yourself relieved of duty for eight hours." For a moment, she thought he was going to argue as he had when Phlox ordered him to his quarters.

To her surprise, he did not.

"All right," Trip said softly. His grin looked weak and altogether too forced. "I _am _kinda tired." As he walked away, he looked broken and exhausted.

It took every gram of her control to not follow him.


	2. Z Minus Ten

**Counting Down to Zero**

**A/N:** 'cause I feel really guilty about the previous chapter being so damned short, here's #2.

* * *

**Z Minus Ten**

The data on the screen in front of her had long since ceased making sense.

Giving up, T'Pol deactivated the screen with more force than was absolutely necessary and rose to her feet. As she rubbed her temples in a futile attempt to ward off an impending headache, she divided her attention between the plan that she and Trip had devised to disable Sphere Forty One and the odds of the captain's suicidal run against the Xindi weapon being successful. When that did not help distract her sufficiently, she added an additional level of complexity to her mental calculations by attempting to calculate exactly how much deuterium would be necessary to reach Earth from the rendezvous point at warp four. A moment later, she discovered that she was pacing back and forth, and forced herself to stop.

In that moment of weakness, her thoughts drifted to Cargo Bay Two and the trellium within.

Anger flashed through her then, hot and fast, and T'Pol clenched her hands together tightly. Her nails dug deeply into her palms and she welcomed the distracting pain. She grit her teeth as her control wavered; for a heartbeat, she seriously considered curling up on her bed and allowing the tears to come before discarding the notion. Phlox had helped cleanse most of the physical effects of the addiction, but she was discovering that the psychological dependency was far, far more insidious. Visiting the doctor for support was not a logical course of action; he was, after all, still quite busy treating the wounded from their recent battle.

That left only Trip.

He remained oblivious to the true source of her recent emotional flashes, but had indicated a willingness to lend aid, including today. She knew, somehow, that he would not turn away from her if she went to him. Trip cared deeply for her, even if the exact nature of their relationship remained ... ambiguous. Control wavered, and she felt the overwhelming urge to visit the cargo bay once more. Just to look, of course.

Her feet carried her from her cabin even before she realized that she had made her decision.

At the commander's door, she hesitated, suddenly overcome with fear. _Would _he turn her away? She had treated him poorly in the past, and if he knew how far she had allowed herself to fall, all in an insane quest for emotion, would he be disgusted? Angry? Or even worse, would he be indifferent toward her plight? Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the door annunciator, and she silently cursed herself for her weakness.

She input the override code, fully expecting him to still be awake despite her orders to the contrary. If she were entirely honest with herself, she was _hoping _that he was awake so they could argue. It would give her something to focus on beyond the intense craving for trellium and she had never denied that Commander Tucker was a stimulating conversationalist.

When the door slid open, T'Pol paused in momentary surprise at the darkness of the cabin and Trip's unmoving form on the bed. Her hesitation was short-lived, though, as she heard the approach of a crewman down the corridor. Stepping forward, she closed the door behind her quickly. As inappropriate as her visit was, it would be even _more _inappropriate to actually be _seen _entering.

Trip was deeply asleep, and she took a moment to admire his features illuminated by starlight. In slumber, the anger and bitterness that seemed to hound him since his sister's death was gone, and the innocence that she had mourned the loss of seemed to resurface. Her fingers trembled as the urge to touch his face swelled within her, and she shivered at the force of the impulse. Somehow, he remained unaware of the power he held over her. Most days, T'Pol hoped he never learned of it.

Especially tonight.

Her thoughts drifted once more to Cargo Bay Two, and she looked away from him. A part of her wanted to blame him, wanted to accuse him of being the reason that she was a fool who had voluntarily poisoned her body and mind. It was tempting to do so, but she knew better.

Without allowing herself to think of the consequences, T'Pol quickly shed her uniform and stacked it on a nearby chair. She slid into the bed next to Trip, drawing in a sharp breath when he instinctively rolled toward her and draped an arm over her stomach. Remarkably, she felt her anxiety dwindle, as if he were somehow siphoning it from her, something she knew to be categorically impossible. Control slowly began to return. She could not stay, of course. It would lead to too many difficult questions if Trip woke to find her in his bed after the way she had treated him lately, but, for the moment, she let herself relax into his embrace. He snuggled closer to her, burying his nose in her hair and mumbling something that she could not comprehend.

_Only a few moments longer_, she told herself as she closed her eyes.


	3. Z Minus Seven

**Counting Down to Zero**

**A/N:** No canon was harmed while writing this. It may have been bent a little, but that's all.

Fair advice: this week is turning out to be utterly insane at school, and next week is shaping up to be even worse. Although I've got most of the rest of this fic done (not including the final chapter), I'm not likely to be online much in order to post it, so apologies in advance...

* * *

**Z Minus Seven**

A sudden gasp from Trip snapped her awake.

T'Pol had not intended to sleep, but the reassuring warmth of Trip's body alongside hers had, like everything else about the man, lulled her into an unexpected sense of comfort. Too late, she had realized just how tired she truly was, and by then, it had already been too late. Moving from the bed had been too much trouble, and those difficult questions didn't seem to be that difficult after all.

Opening her eyes, she discovered that Trip's face was contorted as he rapidly hyperventilated. Low whines were escaping his throat as he began to thrash about on the bed. His eyes rapidly darted around underneath the eyelids, and T'Pol felt her stomach lurch at the sight of him in so much distress – she had thought that the nightmares had passed. She had _hoped _that they had passed. Impulsively, she reached out and caressed his face with two fingers, wishing that there was something she could do to help.

In that moment, his eyes flew open.

Gasping for breath, he wasn't aware of her presence for a long moment as he simply struggled to draw in oxygen. She could feel his heart hammering as he trembled in the terrible dream's aftermath. When he realized that he was not alone, he jerked away from her in surprise, nearly smacking his head against the bulkhead as he did.

"T'Pol?" he asked in confusion. He blinked rapidly, as if trying discern whether she was a figment of his imagination. "What are ... why are you in my bed?"

Humiliation flooded through her then, and she found it impossible to meet his eyes. How could she tell him the truth? Especially when she didn't know herself?

"I apologize," she whispered before beginning to rise. "It was inappropriate." Almost before she had begun to move, Trip was reaching out, his hand grasping her wrist.

"No!" Nightmare induced panic was still in his eyes. "Don't go!" She hesitated, unsure of what she should do, and he took advantage of her momentary confusion. Pulling her back onto the bed, he molded his body to hers, wrapping one arm around her while the other slid under the pillow that they now shared. It was a surprisingly intimate position, and she stiffened instinctively. This was what she had been afraid of. Having discovered her in his bed, he would expect sexual relations now, and a part of her was still hesitant about taking that step once more.

But only a part.

To her surprise, though, he seemed content to simply hold her and her tension drained away once more. The feel of his arm around her was pleasant, and she found herself relaxing against him. His warm breath upon her ear was soothing, though she could not comprehend why.

"Your nightmares have returned," T'Pol said after a long moment. She knew he could hear her worry, yet found herself unconcerned about such a lapse. No one knew her quite as well as Trip did. She tried not to think about what that could mean for the future.

"Different ones," he replied in a sleepy voice. His hand began stroking her arm, and she fought against the shiver of pleasure it caused. "About Sim, actually." He hesitated at her indrawn breath. "T'Pol?"

"How long have you been experiencing these dreams?" she asked, already suspecting the answer. When he did not reply, she rolled onto her back and looked up at him. "Trip?"

The smile that he gave her then was completely unexpected given the nature of their conversation, and caused T'Pol's stomach to tighten slightly, especially when she realized just how close their faces were. She would never understand this man. It troubled her, though, just how much she _wanted _to understand him.

"I like it when you say my name," the commander revealed, his voice husky, and T'Pol swallowed in trepidation. Her eyes focused on his lips, and she found herself wanting to taste him again. "I've had 'em ever since the surgery," Tucker continued as he glanced toward the chronometer before relaxing again. "It's not a big deal, T'Pol. I can handle it." His hand began tracing random patterns on her abdomen, and she tried to keep the muscles from quivering. She wasn't very successful.

"You should have told me," T'Pol pointed out, a hint of anger in her voice. "Neuropressure helped you before." His hand froze, and he slowly pulled it back. A hurt expression flashed across his face as he began to extract himself from their intimate position.

"And neuropressure leads to _exploration_," he growled, bitterness lacing his voice. "We've already traveled that road, and I'm not eager to be just a damned _experiment_." T'Pol winced at his well-deserved anger.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, once more finding it impossible to meet his eyes. He exhaled loudly, and his aggression melted away. She envied his easy mastery of emotion.

"Forget about it," Trip muttered before yawning widely. She watched with poorly concealed fascination.

"You are not on duty for another three hours," she told him, earning a slight frown. "Rest." His frown was almost instantly replaced by a gentle smile at her soft tone.

"Will you stay?" His question – and the almost bashful way he asked – caught her by surprise. The reply tumbled from her lips before she could prevent it.

"Yes."


	4. Z Minus Five

**Counting Down to Zero**

**A/N:** Still having problems getting my final chapter to work, and school work hasn't lessened much.

In regards to Trip having Sim-related nightmares, that's sort of inter-Rigil continuity as I established that fact in _Endeavour: Pandora._ Frankly, it makes little sense for him to _not_ have some sort of unresolved issues since it was _experimental brain surgery._ Can you tell that I'm not exactly a fan of Trek!Science?

* * *

**Z Minus Five**

"Phlox to Commander Tucker."

A hungry sehlat was devouring an oversized peach in decon while Porthos watched from the command chair when the unexpected communication jolted T'Pol awake. She blinked the impossible scenario away, once more finding herself bitterly angry at her foolishness. Before the trellium, she could remember only dreaming once before in her sixty-five years, and even that had been an aberration brought on by atrocious judgment and misplaced trust.

From his place underneath her, Trip shifted slightly, reaching toward the comm panel that was just above the bunk with one hand. His other arm, T'Pol realized with some slight surprise, was still draped across her back. A flash of embarrassment washed through her at the intimacy of their position; with her lying partially atop him, she was instantly reminded of the night when she bared herself before him.

"This is Tucker." He sounded remarkably alert, and at a glance, T'Pol could see that he had been awake before the doctor's hail. She frowned slightly.

"Ah, Commander." The doctor's voice sounded hollow as it emerged from the small wall unit. "I was wondering if you have spoken with Sub-Commander T'Pol. I can't seem to find her." Trip gave her a questioning look, once again proving that his honor was without reproach; a lesser man would have readily admitted her presence in his bed, regardless of the reasons, yet he hesitated to allow her control of the decision. At her nod, he pressed the transmit button once more.

"I am here," she declared calmly. Phlox was already aware of her irrational attraction to the commander, even if they were not once more the central topic in ship's gossip. Lorian had seen to that. "Do you require my presence?"

"No, no," She could almost envision the doctor's cheerful smile. "I was simply making sure that you were ... all right." The concern in Phlox's voice was instantly noticed by Trip, and the engineer gave her a questioning – and concerned – look.

She ignored it.

"Is there anything else, Doctor?" she asked sharply, suddenly tired of her continuing deceit. If she were stronger, she could tell Trip about the trellium, or her terrifying dreams of harming him, or how she had endangered herself and the crew by experimenting with her emotional control. But she wasn't strong enough.

She wondered if she would ever be strong enough.

"No," Phlox replied, evidently picking up on her tone. "Phlox out."

A moment passed in silence as she struggled with her guilt and fear. Phlox had told her to seek someone else's assistance for emotional support, and had even asked – obliquely, of course – if she wanted him to relay certain elements of her addiction to Tucker beforehand. It was unlikely that Trip wasn't even more suspicious now, what with the doctor's unexpected comm and her even more unexpected appearance in his bed. She glanced up, meeting his concerned eyes.

"You know," Trip said softly, "he's gonna think we're ..." He gestured with his free hand as he trailed off, an expression of embarrassment on his face.

"Doctor Phlox is discreet," she replied without thinking. As Tucker tensed slightly, T'Pol recognized the innuendo in her comment and silently chastised herself. Once more, she was tempted to blame Trip; around him and him alone, she found herself acting and speaking without thinking. It was unacceptable, and T'Pol found herself struggling with another flash of anger.

"You don't say," Tucker muttered. He had an interesting expression on his face, one that T'Pol had thought was reserved exclusively for difficult engineering problems that he was attempting to solve. Not for the first time, she wished she knew what he was thinking. "Why did you come here tonight?" Trip asked abruptly, catching her off balance with the question. She should have expected – she _had _expected it – yet the question still surprised her.

"I ... don't know," she prevaricated. It wasn't entirely a lie – she still didn't understand the hold he seemed to have on her – but it wasn't the truth either. The truth was more complicated than she wanted to face, and she didn't know how he would react.

"I can't help you," Trip said softly, his eyes locked on hers, "if you're not honest with me." He sounded sad as he spoke, and perhaps disappointed as well. T'Pol looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. She needed to meditate.

"You need to rest," T'Pol reminded him. It was a clear change of subject, and she caught the flash of frustrated anger that briefly crossed his face. His expression hardened almost instantly, and T'Pol realized how much she missed his _real _smile, not this poor substitute.

"I'm fine," he replied with false good cheer. He began shifting slightly on the bunk, with the clear intent of getting up. For a moment, T'Pol seriously considered making him remain in bed with her. It would be easy to accomplish, and would only require her to kiss him. Her ears warmed, as memories of their coupling returned, but she made no effort to stop him. Trip paused briefly at the doorway leading to his bathroom, and she could see that he wanted to say something but could not find the words. Instead, he studied her for a long moment, his eyes seeming to bore into her _katra. _Without further comment, he disappeared through the doorway and, moments later, the shower activated.

There was no mistaking his unspoken invitation.

She wanted to join him, wanted to feel his lips against her skin, and the coolness of his body against hers under the hot water, but found herself unable to move. The nightmare flashed across her mind's eye, and T'Pol gasped softly at the sudden fear that pulsed through her veins. He deserved better than her, she lamented. Better than a foolish addict who couldn't control her emotions and broke down under intense stress. She closed her eyes, and fought to recover her control.

_You'll never fully recover._

The words of her future self sent a wave of self-loathing and anger through her, and T'Pol slid from the bed. For another long moment, she stared at the open doorway leading to the bathroom. The pitch of the sounds emerging from the room changed, an indication that Trip had stepped into the shower. If she closed her eyes, T'Pol could remember the shower that they had shared following their mating. It had been Trip's suggestion, and had quickly led to another exploration of human sexuality. She swallowed, as memories of Trip's hands upon her neck sent phantom sensations through her nerve endings. She wanted to feel that again, wanted to forget that they were hurtling toward probable death and that the captain was doing the same in a different direction. Through the open doorway, T'Pol could see her distorted reflection in the bathroom mirror as it slowly fogged over, and she inhaled sharply at the trellium addicted monster that, if just for a moment, gazed back at her.

T'Pol fled.


	5. Z Minus Four

**Counting Down to Zero**

**A/N:** You've hit on what I perceive to be the major failing of the T'Pol character, **Dinah**, as written by those two monkeys who ran the show: her inconsistency. Yeah, I get that it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind, but isn't there a law out there against you ladies changing your mind every five minutes?

But then I remember, this is the same writing crew that thought it was a good idea to ping-pong her between the male leads like she was nothing more than a sex bunny, mind-raped her _three_ fraking times (Tolaris, Silick, Rajiin), then decided it be a fantastic plot twist to turn her into a drug addict who is criminally negligent for every single death that occurred at Azati Prime. (Where's my eye-rolling emoticon when I need it?)

**A/N 2: **This marks the end of what I've already got written for CDtZ. The last scene is one I'm still attempting to bend into submission. I know _what_ I want to do and what _needs_ to happen: it's just not cooperating. So apologies in advance for any further delays...

* * *

**Z Minus Four**

Her attempt to meditate was a spectacular failure.

Staring at the flickering candle, T'Pol exhaled in frustration and abandoned the effort to center her turbulent thoughts. Suppressing the urge to throw the candle across the darkened room was more difficult than it should have been, and she rose to her feet with a decided air of annoyance. It was ironic, she thought bitterly, that the same emotions she was now struggling to contain had seemed less intense only an hour earlier. Only in the presence of the most emotional man she had ever known did T'Pol feel fully in control of herself. If she had a sense of humor, it would have been funny.

The chirp of the door annunciator startled her, and T'Pol took an extended moment to compose her features into a stoic mask. She had no desire for him to see the difficulty she was having. He would undoubtedly become concerned, which would lead to uncomfortable questions being asked, questions that she still didn't have the answers to, questions she might never have the answers to..

"Enter," T'Pol said once she was satisfied that no trace of her struggle was apparent. She blinked in surprise as the door slid open to reveal Phlox. A kernel of disappointment swelled within her; she'd expected ... no, she corrected herself: she'd _hoped _that it was Trip. "Doctor," she said by way of greeting as the Denobulan entered her quarters. The door closed behind him.

"I apologize for my intrusion, Sub-Commander," Phlox smiled. "But I wanted to see how you were doing." He produced his handheld scanner from behind his back, and T'Pol raised an eyebrow in mild confusion. "Mister Tucker told me that you appeared ... out of sorts when you left his quarters. He was worried and asked me to check on you." T'Pol frowned slightly at that, even as she felt an irrational surge of warmth at the commander's concern. She hesitated only for a moment, before nodding for the doctor to conduct his scans.

"It has been a difficult night," she revealed softly. His knowledge regarding her addiction made him the logical confidant.

"I'm detecting subnormal activity in your nucleus accumbens," Phlox stated off of his scans. He gave her a knowing look. "Have you been experiencing depression or anxiety?" Even as T'Pol opened her mouth to point out that a Vulcan did not suffer such things, the doctor was amending his question. "And please don't insult my intelligence by claiming that you don't experience emotions. We both know that is inaccurate." His eyes were penetrating, and T'Pol nodded.

"Both," she admitted. "It has made meditation ... difficult."

"I should say so," the Denobulan commented. He extracted a hypospray from one of his pockets and began adjusting the dosage. "This will stabilize your dopamine levels for the time being," he stated, "And should allow you to meditate." The hypospray hissed softly as he applied the treatment. "Have you gotten any sleep?" he asked.

Instantly, the memory of how comfortable she had felt while lying in Trip's arms flashed across her mind's eye, and T'Pol looked away from the doctor. Even though he was aware of her illogical affection for Tucker, she found that she could not meet the Denobulan's eyes. Her ears heated in mild embarrassment when she caught the flicker of amusement that crossed Phlox's face.

"Yes," T'Pol replied. The doctor chuckled slightly as he studied his scans once more.

"You should feel better now," he declared, and indeed, she did. For the first time in several days, T'Pol felt closer to her old self. It wasn't perfect, of course, but she suspected that reaching her whitespace would actually be possible now. "I wish you had come to me before your withdrawal symptoms got this out of hand," Phlox said with a frown. "You are still recovering, Sub-Commander, and ignoring what your body is telling you can't be logical."

"You were busy with the wounded," T'Pol argued, even as she realized it was a poor explanation. A part of her still believed that she deserved the discomfort. It was a way to punish herself for her failures that had led to the deaths of fourteen crewmen and officers, a self-inflicted penance for her contemptuous actions. She recognized the sentiment as devoid of logic, but couldn't find it in her to ignore it.

"That's no excuse, T'Pol," Phlox glowered. "And you know it." He shook his head in disgust. "You and Commander Tucker are more alike than either of you want to admit," the doctor grumbled in annoyance, prompting T'Pol to raise an eyebrow in surprise. "Can I presume that you still haven't told him?" Phlox asked.

"No," she admitted softly.

"You need a support base, Sub-Commander," the doctor reminded her. He frowned as he studied her. "If you wish, I can tell him about your addiction," Phlox offered.

For a moment, T'Pol _seriously_ considered it. It would make things so much easier if Trip knew why she had been so wildly inconsistent in recent weeks, and it would allow her to avoid an uncomfortable conversation that she _really _didn't want to have. She had no desire to see the anger in his face when he learned of what she had done, or – even worse – the disappointment. It would be so easy to let Phlox do it...

"No," she replied firmly. Trip deserved to hear it from her, not from an intermediary. She had already been weak enough, and allowing Phlox to tell him would only be another failure on her part. "Thank you for the offer, Doctor, but I will tell him at the appropriate time."

"Of course you will," Phlox muttered. He glanced at the still burning candle. "I recommend that you try to meditate," he said, his tone making it clear that this was an order coming from the chief medical officer, and not her friend. "If you need anything, contact me at once."

"Understood." T'Pol hesitated for a moment as the Denobulan turned toward the door. "Doctor." He turned back to face her. "Why did you contact me earlier?" she asked. He smiled.

"Internal sensors informed me that you had not been in your quarters for over five hours," he revealed. She blinked in surprise at that.

"You were tracking me?" T'Pol asked tightly, not entirely comfortable with this discovery.

"Yes." Phlox shrugged. "After you told me about the trellium, I needed a way to monitor your recovery." His expression darkened slightly. "And to ensure that you did not suffer a relapse. There are certain locations on Enterprise that I now keep under very close scrutiny."

"Cargo Bay Two," she realized, and he nodded before offering another half-hearted smile.

"Try to meditate," Phlox ordered, before opening the door and departing her quarters.


	6. Z Minus Three

**Counting Down to Zero**

**A/N:** Done. I tried to end this in such a way as to logically lead into "Zero Hour" (because the T'Pol at the end of "Countdown" is pretty different than the one in the beginning of ZH.) Yeah, it's short, but this whole fic was mostly an attempt by me to write something that's canon friendly (which is saying a lot given how much I really don't like canon.) You be the judge if I succeeded or not.

* * *

**Z Minus Three**

The chirp from the computer drew T'Pol's attention from the faltering candle.

Without a hint of the frustration simmering within her on her face, she rose to her feet. Meditation had been far less productive than she would have liked. Admittedly, her mental control felt stronger than it had in many weeks, but there was no denying that she was still in less than optimal condition. If the situation were any less bleak, T'Pol would have turned over command of _Enterprise _to Trip, and allowed him to accomplish their coming task, something she should have done at Azati Prime when she realized how unfit for command she was.

On the heels of that thought, however, T'Pol realized that it would be unfair to put even more burdens on him. With the captain retreating from everyone emotionally and her own out-of-character actions of late, Commander Tucker currently had enough problems to deal with, particularly since everyone aboard looked to him for guidance and leadership whether he realized it or not. It hadn't escaped her notice that, despite his own personal troubles, he remained the one person aboard _Enterprise _who seemed fully capable of holding the crew together.

Another long moment passed before she realized that she had begun pacing again, and T'Pol forced herself to stop, all the while wondering when she had picked up the habit from Captain Archer. Her frustration continued to mount – the meditation was supposed to have assisted her in finding control, not accelerating her loss of it! – and she dropped into the chair in front of her personal computer without any of her usual grace.

The data now crawling across the screen was exactly as she had expected it to be, though being proven right in regards to a theory didn't improve her mood. She spent several long minutes studying the simulations as they played out before exhaling heavily. Would the Vulcan High Command act accordingly if she forwarded them this data on how quickly the Expanse was growing, or would they allow their myopic focus on Andoria cloud their judgment?

Somehow, she suspected it would be the latter.

With a sharp gesture, she deactivated the simulations and brought up the crew roster. Several intra-ship messages were awaiting her examination, and T'Pol gave them cursory glances before deciding most were not of sufficient importance to worry about until after their current mission was complete. Two were from Chef and listed his (perceived) grievances in regards to the chief engineer's priorities, as if a malfunctioning refrigeration unit should take precedence over a potential leak in the port deuterium tank. Another message was from the quartermaster and concerned the dwindling supply of spare uniforms available for crew use. Three were automated system messages reminding her that annual performance evaluations were overdue.

The seventh was from Trip.

T'Pol frowned at the datestamp attached to the message as well as the routing code as it indicated Trip had sent the message from Engineering forty-three minutes earlier despite her relieving him of duty for a full eight hours. She should have expected this from him. The man had been in Engineering less than a week after brain surgery, after all; the only way she could have made sure he was in his quarters for the entire eight hours was if she had sedated him or rendered him unconscious. Forcing her displeasure down, she accessed the message and studied it.

As usual, Trip's reporting style was fascinating, a combination of the formal and the casual that was elucidating and entertaining at the same time. In short, concise sentences, he detailed his crew's progress – they had finished rerouting most of the power conduits and were moving on to realign the main power grid according to the plan. Though it was not immediately apparent from anything stated in the report, T'Pol had learned enough about Tucker's shorthand to recognize he was worried about the feasibility of the plan.

To her surprised, disgust, she realized she was fidgeting as she finished reading, though she was unsure if it was due to the chief engineer's unspoken fears about the failure of their mission or if it was something else. Regardless, it was a reminder that her meditation had proved to be ineffective ... or at least less effective than it should have been. With every gram of her self-control, she forced herself to remain still for a long moment. Her eyes drifted back to the message and she stood quickly.

She needed to speak with Trip.


End file.
